


Lathbora Viran

by thisonefeelslikeaflower



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonefeelslikeaflower/pseuds/thisonefeelslikeaflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellara remembers some of her favorite moments spent with Solas. Takes place after Trespasser DLC. Lavellan/Solas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lathbora Viran

_Ellara lay back against the pillows of her bed with a lute cradled in her lap and tried her best not to fall asleep. She couldn’t stand the thought of a dreamless slumber, though that seemed to be happening more and more often now. In place of the dreams, she fought to stay awake each night, to remember. Before she eventually succumbed to exhaustion, she would pull up a different memory each time to pick apart with painstaking deliberation. And she remembered everything._

_Tonight she remembered some of the rare times she had seen Solas with an instrument. He wasn’t often in the habit of playing; he preferred to pass what little free time he had painting, dreaming, or keeping her company. His talent for music with something he had kept to himself, for the most part. Until she had discovered him._

_They were some of her favorite memories._

After having spent three weeks or so in Emprise du Lion, Ellara had immediately sought rest upon returning to Skyhold. She remembered having collapsed into her bed for a nap that had lasted at least four hours. When she woke up with a headache and bones still sore from travel, she ventured out to the tavern in search of a strong drink. She had been amazed to find it to be completely silent.

With boots crunching noisily on the frosty gravel, Ellara had hesitated outside of the Herald’s Rest. Usually by now she could hear the loud commotion of conversation, drinking, and music pouring through the windows. But today the windows had been shut against the cold, and from the outside the tavern was completely silent. Timidly, she opened the door and peeked her head through.

It was packed. Every seat was occupied, and other patrons had begun to cluster in open corners and along the bar. Ellara was just as short as elves tended to be and could barely see over the shoulders of the human before her. But once she heard what they were all listening to, and she understood their silence.

When she strained her pointed ears, Ellara could catch the music that she had been unable to hear outside of the taverns walls. She remembered being confused, at first. Maryden never played so quietly, nor in such a strange manner. Whereas Maryden’s tunes were catchy and oftentimes simple, the song at hand was far more complex and unlike anything that the bard had ever played. It gave off the impression of being very old; Ellara was familiar with the music styles that were popular for that time and setting, and this tune reminded her more of the sort of songs that her Keeper would play sometimes by the fire at night. It was a sad song, too. Its aching minor chords were played with a slow, building deliberation that spoke of longing and melancholy. And then the musician began to sing.

Ellara inhaled sharply. She recognized the voice, even if she had never heard it in that context. Gently she pushed forward. Whenever tavern-goers saw her, they politely made way, immediately recognizing her as the Inquisitor. She didn’t suppose that anyone recognized the player but her.

Solas was still dressed in the thick winter fur necessary for anyone who spent more than a few days in Emprise du Lion. It covered every part of his body save for his face, which was wrapped in a dark scarf that hid his ears and shining scalp. He was bent lovingly over the lute, holding it close to him as he played. It was Maryden’s lute, Ellara could tell. The bard herself stood to his side and watched him with the sort of grudging appreciation on her features that one would only find in a fellow musician. Solas, however, seemed quite oblivious to everyone who surrounded him. His expression was gentler than she had ever seen it before.

Over time, Ellara caught on to the soft notes he was singing and strained her pointed ears for the words. He sang in a pitch lower than the one he used to talk, huskier and quieter. His song was a ballad and as tragic as its minor chords would have suggested. He sang of a weary traveler who had found himself far from home, heart and homesick, who had returned to find that there was nothing left. Ellara watched the faces around her as they fell. Lips were pressed together, mouths drooped down into quivering frowns, eyes crinkling at their corners.

Solas ended the song without any gestures or flourishes, and when he looked up, he seemed surprised to be surrounded by so many. One of the more forward barmaids took a step forward. “Another?” she inquired, almost timidly. Solas only smiled a thin-lipped smile, passed the lute off to Maryden, and stood.

“Thank you all. I am happy to know you enjoyed it, at least for a time.” He inclined his head slightly, and when he rose again, he met Ellara’s gaze. Briefly his smile widened. On his way out of the tavern, he caught her arm and led her out behind him.

“I didn’t know you played,” she said once they were out in the cold.

“I didn’t realize people would listen.”

“Of course they would. You were very good.”

“Maryden always plays, and no one ever pays her songs any mind,” he said, “I thought perhaps if—“

Ellara laid a finger against his lips. “You were better.” She then lifted her hand further to cup the hard angle of his jaw gently. “Will you teach me?”

Solas turned his head slightly to kiss her palm. “It would be a pleasure.”

 

_Ellara traced the patterns carved into lute, staring up at her ceiling, eyes unseeing. Her expression was soft, now. She allowed herself to skip ahead in her memory._

“You’ve got quite an ear for music, vhenan. It’s a wonder no one in your clan thought to teach you.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “Or that you did not seek to learn on your own.”

“I had never thought it interesting before.” She sat cradled in his arms, Solas enveloping her from behind. He had his narrow chin propped up on her shoulder so that he could watch her move her untrained fingers across the strings, fingering the most basic of chords. They had been playing for almost an hour. That particular evening was perhaps the fourth time he had given her a lesson, and she could play a few simple songs, most of them nursery rhymes. When she began to play through one of them again, he bent his head to press his lips gently to her neck.

“I think you’re allowing yourself to get distracted, teacher,” she said gently, playfully.

“No, you’re letting _me_ distract _you_ ,” he murmured, moving his lips to the lobe of her ear. She could feel him smile against her skin. “Keep playing.”

Ellara swallowed and set to playing one of the gentler songs she had learned, playing it slowly and carefully as he continued to kiss at her neck. She crooned wordless notes of harmony with the song, resolved to finish her tune even as Solas wrapped his arms about her middle, careful not to nudge the lute. She let herself fall into the rolling, easy rhythms of the simple tune and tried to keep her focus. Solas stopped his distracting kisses, but his hands continued to wander as she carried on with her song. At times, he would murmur gentle words of advice into her neck. While he began playfully, his voice became deeper, rougher as he continued.

“That note was a bit sharp, yes?” His fingers brushed from the outside of her hip, down her thigh, and rested on her knee.

“Beautiful. Play all the chords like that one.” His other hand, still at her stomach, glided slowly upwards. The pad of his thumb slowly traced the curve of the underside of her breast through her loose shirt while his knuckles pressed at her ribs.

“I’ve never heard anyone play this one with as much tenderness as you do, vhenan.” The hand on her knee drifted back over her thigh, though he kept his fingers on the inner part, this time. Ellara swallowed.

“Careful not to rush.” He leaned even more forward, pressing his chest up against her from behind. She felt something press at the small of her back. “You’ll get to the end of the song in time. You’re very close.” He slipped the hand on her ribs further up, coming between her and the lute even as she continued to shakily play. He cupped her breast momentarily before pressing his palm to her collarbone. He tapped a single finger over her heart. “Keep the beat, even if _this_ is racing.”

She could practically hear the grin in his voice. Even with less than a minute left in her song, Solas didn’t let up. His other hand moved up her thigh, pressed at the spot between her legs. Ellara nearly broke a string, and her harmonizing humming came out as something of a squeak. Pure determination and stubbornness carried her through even as her companion sought to distract her. He nearly succeeded, too. His fingers had just begun to slip into her trousers to brush at her soft hair when she finished the song. The lute hummed with the last note as the two breathed heavily.

Ellara broke the silence. “I thought that went… very well.”

“I would agree.” Solas said smoothly, moving to press his lips to the line of her jaw. “You work beautifully under pressure.” He moved to remove his hand from the waistband of her pants, and she touched at his wrist as he did so.

“I practiced, as you suggested. I do believe I recall you offering some sort of a reward for a worthy performance.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“I believe you were on the right track.” Carefully she picked up the lute at its neck and moved to lay the instrument on the ground. She shifted her body until she was turned towards him, her legs draped over his thighs, ankles crossing behind his back. She touched delicately at the collar of his tunic. “I’ve been away a week, vhenan. I’ve missed you.”

Solas considered her for a moment, and she thought that she could feel his eyes trace over the lines of her vallaslin. Eventually he leaned and pressed his bare forehead against her own. “And I have missed you.”

Suddenly his was pushing her, lunging forward until she was laying on her back, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Hungrily he pressed his lips to hers as his fingers slid underneath her shirt, her own hands fumbling under his tunic until they found the laces of his pants. In a rush they undressed each other, heedless of buttons and buckles and laces and ties except where it was necessary. Neither paused until every article of clothing had been removed, and that was the point at which Solas stopped.

Ellara’s lover was a slow one. She had never met someone with so much time. Met with her own hotheaded impatience, the two had quarreled at first, finding the difference difficult to overcome. There was no rushing Solas. But now, it was a quality she loved about him. A quality that was especially wonderful in a lover.

Draped as she was over the sheets, she regarded him as he stood over her, his hands at his sides. Ropey muscles and tendons snaked under his skin, adding some definition to his otherwise thin frame. Weeks before, she had been delighted to discover that he wasn’t _completely_ bald, with the thin stream of hair that snaked down from his navel and the light-colored tufts that ran down his legs. Before she was given enough time to admire him, however, he suddenly hovered over her, leaning over the bed as he pressed his hands to the pillow on either side of her head. His narrowed, hungry eyes suddenly softened as they stared into her own. Gingerly brushed his hand through her short black hair. Traced the point of her ear. Held her chin between chin and thumb and forefinger. Finally, he sighed.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” And then he was upon her.

His lips pressed to her neck, sucking gently at the spot where it met her shoulder. His fingers traced at the curve of her hip and down to her knee. From there, he took his sweet time as he drew patterns on her inner thighs, even as she drew her legs apart and open. Each time he drew closer to the space between, he would suddenly dart away, back to her knees, smiling into the flesh of her neck. When he finally paused over her opening, his hand close enough to tease at her soft curls of hair without actually touching the flesh, Ellara inhaled sharply. “Solas.”

“I know.”

Slow, slow. Lightly his middle finger traced at the slender line between her folds, already slick as they were with wetness. She made a low sound in the back of her throat as he teased her, sometimes tracing along her opening, other times moving his thumb in slow circles around the space above. Ellara nearly hissed with the anticipation, raking her nails gently over his back as he bent over her. Slowly he kissed his way down to her left breast, and as soon as his lips closed around her nipple, he slipped a finger inside of her.

Ah, but Solas was a patient lover. Sometimes he murmured to her as he stroked her, curling his fingers in slow, burning patterns. At other times he used his mouth, clutching her to him even as her back arched and her body shook. At some points he himself even seemed consumed with impatience, pressing his fingers incessantly into her as he kissed and sucked bruises onto her chest, plucking roughly at her hardened nipples with his free hand. Only when she was on the brink, whimpering his name, hovering on the precipice, so close, did he finally thrust his member inside of her. She imagined for a moment that she saw stars.

All of his earlier patience and slow, teasing caresses disappeared under a wave of fierce passion. Solas thrust into her with an urgency only matched by her own, a wildness that never ceased to surprise or thrill her. This thoughtful, quiet man had turned out to be the most intense of lovers, and it warmed her to think that they were never off balance as a pair. But then, of course, he often made it rather difficult to think. Especially— _Ah._ Her fingernails clawed red lines into his back as he shoved his full length inside of her, the backs of her thighs aching from their position on either one of his shoulders. Her hand fumbled its way up to the back of his head, which she pressed forward until his forehead butted up against her own. “Vhenan,” she panted. “ _Vhenan.”_

They spent the majority of their evening with such occupations, and only when they had thoroughly exhausted themselves did Solas pick the lute from the floor again. With Ellara pressed stickily to his side, he sang to her as she drifted off, his soothing voice the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep.

 

_Ellara exhaled raggedly. Her lips were parted in a quivering sort of smile as she hummed a wispy, broken imitation of the same melody that she remembered. She shifted slightly on the bed, burrowing herself into the pillows. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she allowed other scenes to consume her, other memories. Too few. Too few of him. But she could make more, couldn’t she? Wouldn’t they make more?_

_Her smile disappeared. A hard, thin line took its place. Idly she reached up with her right hand and touched her cheek, where her vallaslin had been. Her eyes shut tight as she allowed the memory to wash over her. To burn. It was the last time she heard him play._

It was late and Skyhold was asleep. Or very early, rather. Dawn would be a few hours away, but Ellara was only too aware of the night. She sat in the armchair normally occupied by Dorian, surrounded by shelves of books. He had left a long time ago to seek out an uneasy sleep with the rest of them. All of the mages who usually roamed about this part of the tower had also disappeared after some time, perhaps discomforted by Ellara’s presence. She knew her face made them uncomfortable. She knew they were too afraid to ask, not with the stony gaze she had shot to anyone who looked for too long.

By now her gaze had melted and left her bare cheeks wet with tears. She had spent much of her evening flicking spells at the candle in front of her, lighting and extinguishing the wick over and over again until all of the wax had melted away. The darkness suited her, for the moment, as did the silence. But just when she thought sleep would come to her at last, the silence was broken by something a floor below.

Oh, but how she cringed away from the sound. The low notes of the lute were the last thing she wanted to hear. The voice that followed was even worse. The voice that she had attempted to speak with, the voice that had grown unsympathetic and rough and hard. It wasn’t rough now, though. His voice sung notes in a way that she never could, sung them in a way that was achingly beautiful. She sound recognized the sounds to be ancient elvish words. She could only make out a few, but she knew enough to know that the song was a sad one.

Feeling somewhat silly, Ellara lowered herself to the ground and crept forward towards the bannister that circled her floor and gave her a view of the floor below. Solas sat rigidly in the chair by his desk, staring at the opposite wall as he continued to play. A single candle illuminated the harsh planes of his face. He was clearly oblivious to her presence, and even with the shroud of darkness, it didn’t seem that he was interested in looking about. His mind was somewhere else entirely. His gaze didn’t waver, even when the song was finished.

“You never taught me that one,” Ellara murmured quietly. Given the silence, her small voice echoed throughout the hollow room.

Solas didn’t look up. “No,” he said eventually. “I didn’t.”

“Will you now?”

He finally glanced up at her, or towards where he had heard her voice. She imagined that for a moment, for the briefest of instants, his expression mirrored the hurt that she felt. That it mirrored her own face. But in the light of the wavering flame of the candle, it was impossible to tell. Slowly he bent forward and blew out the candle in the mundane way, sending the tower into a complete, inky darkness. She heard his footsteps quietly fade off as he left.

 

_Her tears drew new, messy_ vallaslin _patterns on her face as they coursed down her cheeks, along the line of her jaw, and down her neck. Idly she traced the bowl of the lute again and tried to breath evenly._

_There were reasons why she cherished the memories from before so dearly. Solas had never been a simple man, and she knew that. The nomadic elf had been something of a mystery, and much of her missed the days that seemed now, in comparison, so simple. She had loved getting to know the man who had kept her alive, who had hundreds of tales from his time in the Fade, who had taught her to play, who had helped her improve her magic, who had been a steadfast advisor and friend. And lover. Vhenan._

_It was important to remember who he had been to her, and who he still could be. Even when she knew the truth of things, now, she still felt that some part of the man she had fallen in love with remained. She kept these seeds of hope, these gentle and passionate and sweet and lovely and heartbreaking memories._

_The fingers of her right hand strummed across the same notes, over and over again. The stump of her left arm was able to hold the neck of the instrument up, to some extent, but she would never play any songs again._

 

 


End file.
